


Bloomsbury

by butterflymind



Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-28
Updated: 2020-02-28
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:42:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22943485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/butterflymind/pseuds/butterflymind
Summary: Oscar gives a lecture, and Zolf gives as good as he’s getting.
Relationships: Zolf Smith/Oscar Wilde
Comments: 12
Kudos: 78





	Bloomsbury

**Author's Note:**

> Pure self indulgent fluff. With one slight moment of horror, although it’s barely noticeable. All events are fictitious, other than the academic party, where all events are thinly veiled versions of excruciating things I have seen and experienced.

It was one of those balcony windows that demanded to be flung open in the first full blush of morning light. Below the balcony the sounds of the waking city were gathering pace, a murmur becoming a hum as a prelude to a roar. Inside the room was darkness, until the curtains were pulled back and the window opened with a flourish, because Oscar had never met a dramatic entrance he didn't like. He stepped out, enjoying the full glory of the morning sun.

"Put some fucking trousers on or come back to bed." A voice grumbled behind him, half muffled in a pillow. "No one deserves that at this time of the morning." Oscar looked over his shoulder but didn't return through the window. 

"I've never heard you complain."

"I'm a special case." Zolf reluctantly lifted his head from the pillow, blinking in the light. "I knew what I was signing up for." This did make Oscar turn round and re-enter the room, grinning like a cat. He shut the window behind him, but left the curtains open wide.

"I knew you were looking when I was in quarantine.” He said triumphantly. Zolf huffed.

“Never said I wasn’t.” He gave Oscar an appraising look, up and down. “I always said you were physically attractive. It was the rest of you that was the problem.”

“Not anymore.” Oscar said smugly and dived back into the bed, wrapping his limbs around Zolf and giving him an unwanted preview of the temperature outside the bedclothes.

“Let’s assume the jury is still out on that.” Zolf fought him off halfheartedly, in the process catching a glimpse of the bedside clock. “Gods, why are you so chirpy at this hour of the morning? It’s too early for the gossip column schadenfreude to have kicked in.” Oscar shrugged.

“Joie de vivre?” He was making himself as comfortable as he could on a semi-cooperative dwarf.

“French as well? You are having a good morning.” Zolf resisted Oscar’s attempts to turn him into a pillow mostly out of principle. In a straightforward test of strength he would win easily, but that wasn’t exactly the point of this.

“I can practise more French if you like.” Oscar offered, innocently.

“Nope, energy like yours shouldn’t be confined to the bedroom.” Zolf threw the covers off them both and started to climb out of bed.

“Are we going Al fresco?” Oscar was still trying for innocence, but the filthy edge was creeping into his voice. Zolf sighed theatrically.

“We’re going to breakfast, leave the European languages alone.” Oscar grumbled but got out of bed, still very naked. “And put some trousers on.”

  


Oscar knew that Zolf knew precisely how to drink tea from a fine china cup like the one he had been given at the breakfast table this morning. He had seen him do it, many times, in private and in public. However the waiter had given him such a condescending look when he had shown them to their table, and been so obviously concerned that Zolf may not know how to behave in a fine hotel, that Zolf was now playing up to the stereotype with malicious flair. He held the tea cup in both hands as if he was nursing a tankard, and occasionally slurped from it as noisily as he could. He had already asked for extra toast to mop up the remaining hollandaise sauce from his eggs Benedict, and had proceeded to complete the meal by licking the last of a mixture of egg yolk and sauce from his fingers, with loud and satisfied smacks of his lips. Oscar loved him fiercely.

“Have you quite finished?” He muttered quietly, trying to sound disapproving. Zolf grinned at him over the rim of his cup. 

“That depends, how is our friend doing?” Oscar glanced over Zolf’s shoulder to where the waiter stood, red faced and apoplectic with rage. The faces of the other diners were equally horrified.

“I think you’ve made quite an impression on everyone.” He said drily.

“Good.” Zolf drained the last of his tea and stood up. Almost as an afterthought he picked up his napkin, which had lain untouched at the side of his plate throughout the meal, and daintily dabbed at his beard and wiped his fingers. Then he blew his nose on it noisily and dropped it on a chair. “Shall we?” He said, offering his arm to Oscar.

  


They walked through the streets of Bloomsbury, enjoying the spring sunshine and avoiding the students darting between buildings like frightened jackrabbits. Technically Oscar was here to work, and Zolf was here, so he said, to watch. The university had invited him to give a guest lecture on literary criticism and Oscar, who had recently been denied the same opportunity at Oxford due to the university having (he said) a ‘post-meritocratic fit of pique’, had roused himself to come to London with what Zolf considered to be the minimum possible fuss.

It was a good time of year to be here at least, far enough into the spring for the trees to be in full blossom and the world fresh and new, but before the heat and dust had risen enough for the city to develop the grimy charm of summer. Zolf hadn’t spent much time around this neighbourhood in his last few visits to London, at least not during the day. It was much too clean and filled with dappled sunlight for mercenaries to ply their trade in daylight hours, although by night it was much the same as everywhere else, and just as much in need of fighters and healers as the rest of the city. Oscar, he assumed was far more acquainted with the daylight version of these streets. Not that he was paying much attention at this particular moment, instead walking with his head down and hands twitching, sketching little patterns in the air as he silently rehearsed his lecture. The patterns were becoming a little somatic for Zolf’s taste, and he took one of Oscar’s hands to arrest the movement.

“Probably best not to cast a major illusion on the assembled company.” He said. Oscar looked up, surprised by the interruption. He looked away guiltily when he realised what he had been doing.

“Are you certain? I do a very good Bernard Shaw.”

“I bet you do.”

“It used to be a highlight at parties.”

“That doesn’t surprise me either.” Zolf gave him a sidelong glance. “Speaking of parties, now you’ve brought the subject up…”

“Must we?” Oscar said tiredly. “I don’t want to go.”

“What you want and what you should do don’t always align.” Zolf said for the thousandth time. “I agree with you, it’s going to be boring, and the food will be awful, and the wine will be worse.” He held up a hand to stop Oscar repeating his many other objections. “And if it was just for your posh friends to boast about the gold they’ve got I’d skip back to the hotel with a smile on my face and a song in my heart. But the university invited you, and more importantly they’ve bankrolled this little trip of yours, and that deserves the respect of drinking lukewarm white wine for half an hour.”

“I wasn’t expecting you to take this attitude.” Oscar grumbled.

“Well tough. That’s the attitude I’m taking.”

“You realise I’ll make you come too?”

“That’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make.” Oscar turned to examine his face properly, eyes narrowing.

“Is there some kind of ulterior motive here?”

“I’m offended you would ask me that.” Zolf sighed inwardly. Of course there was an ulterior motive, although it was both more innocent and more ridiculous than Oscar would probably believe. But he’d been in the room when Oscar opened the letter inviting him to lecture, once in the spring and once in the summer, and offering to pay his way. He’d seen the subtle shades of disbelief and pleasure chase across his face before they were replaced with the studied nonchalance Oscar had chosen to suggest that perhaps, if they had time, they could make a short trip to London in the spring. He didn’t know how likely it was they would ask him back, or how much of a difference to the chances of that attendance at this party could make, but if it would help Oscar get another chance like this, another opportunity to flex the academic muscles he pretended not to have, then Zolf would grit his teeth and play nice for an evening.

“That isn’t actually an answer either way.”

“You don’t say.” Zolf directed him towards a nearby tea room with one guiding hand. “Look, cakes.”

“I can’t help but feel this transparent distraction is another distraction” Oscar muttered as they entered the shop, but allowed himself to be guided to a table. “Are you going to behave yourself this time?”

“I’ll behave exactly as they expect me to.” Zolf said, all innocence.

Fortunately, the staff of the tea rooms were either more used to a wider clientele, or just less fundamentally prejudiced than the staff of the hotel, and Zolf found no reason to bait them. They found their way to the British Museum for the afternoon. Zolf was surprised to find the Macguffingham wing still standing and Oscar could not resist asking a hovering curator, who told him that although monetary donations were not forthcoming, the new heir to Macguffingham fortune was much disposed to fetching items of interest that had been lost during the war and returning them to the museum. Zolf, somewhat disappointed not to be recognised by any of the staff, regaled them all with stories of the last time he was at the museum, until Oscar could stand it no longer and took him to dinner.

  


“Can you be late to your own lecture?” Zolf asked as they left the restaurant.

“From my point of view or the audience’s?” Oscar asked, hurrying along the lamp-lit streets. There was a real chill creeping in now, the spring sunshine still not quite enough to beat back the cold of the night. Zolf was beginning to struggle to keep up with him, and Oscar instinctively slowed to let him catch up.

“You go on ahead.” Zolf said, propelling him slightly in the right direction with a hand in the small of his back. “I’ll need to go in the other way anyway.” He put a hand on Oscar’s arm and tugged gently until he bent down to be kissed. There were a few seconds of tenderness, and Zolf swiped him on the bum. “Go on, your public awaits.” Oscar flashed him a moment of his actual smile, the one that ignored any effects from the scar on his face, and hurried away.

  


Zolf’s experience of lectures was not extensive. He wasn’t completely unfamiliar, there were a certain number of lessons required to become a cleric after all, but those had taken a more religiously maniacal tack than this. Also, evening dress had not been expected, unless you had somehow managed to incorporate it into your religious regalia. He supposed the dark panelled rooms full of strange symbols were a similarity between the two, although the university coat of arms incorporated fewer tridents and leaping fish than he was used to. He had to admit though, watching the people around him, that Oscar held their attention as well as any bosun ever could. Better in a way, because these people weren’t tinged with the fear of authority. 

Secretly he loved to watch Oscar speak like this, although he would never admit it out loud. And no one would notice the slightly dopey smile on his face right now, because no one in this room was watching anything except Oscar. He was winding up towards a finish now, his hands becoming more expressive as he talked, his expression opening up as he took full rhetorical flight. Zolf knew he could not be the only magically sensitive being in this room; it was a university, and even the ones that didn’t focus on magic specifically tended to be inhabited by more magic folk than not, the buildings rookeries of underdeveloped wizards accidentally putting each other to sleep. He wondered therefore how many other people were aware of the charge, the faint crackle and taste of magic that followed Oscar’s hands as he made another flourishing point. Maybe he was just sensitive to it, or maybe in polite society you don’t mention the fact that your guest lecturer is two good points away from loosing illusory fireworks in the crowd. He caught Oscar’s eye when his attention next passed his way, and raised a single eyebrow. He didn’t pause, didn’t even take a breath or blink to acknowledge Zolf’s message, but he toned down his next gesture and the the magical charge in the room returned to a background hum. 

Zolf hadn’t bothered to find a seat, being both late and unwilling to endure the looks he sometimes received when people noticed the sounds of his legs bending into a sitting position, and when Oscar finished his final point he stood up straight from the wall he was leaning on, only to flop back again when the host of the seminar asked if anyone had any questions. This was followed by a further ten minutes of spirited academic debate, and some simpering questions, particularly from a pretty dark haired boy in the front row who Zolf was fairly sure was not as interested in comparative literature as he was pretending. Even when the lecture was finished, a few dedicated fans remained grouped around the lectern vying for Oscar’s attention, the dark haired boy amongst them. While Oscar was talking to him, his eyes drifted over the boy’s head and he quirked first an eyebrow, and then a smug smile at Zolf’s expression. He said something to the boy, then turned him round and gestured to Zolf who was still leaning casually on the wall at the back of the lecture theatre. The look the boy gave him could have killed at ten paces. Zolf grinned back, and then pushed himself off the wall and headed down the central steps towards the lectern and Oscar. 

“We should probably be going.” He said as he reached them. He put a hand on Oscar’s arm, mostly just to see the reaction of the boy. “We don’t want to be late.”

“Don’t we?” Oscar muttered to him, out of earshot of the others. Then he plastered on a smile again, and made profuse and eloquent apologies to the crowd that remained. Zolf patted him on the arm, part comfort, part sarcasm, and made propelled him with a gentle but firm motion towards the doors. The crowd followed, still chattering, like the victims of a love potion that hadn’t quite worn off. They had almost reached the door when the boy, still hanging on to the back of the crowd like a limpet without the common sense to know when to let go, suddenly spoke up.

“Thank you.” He said in a trembling voice, sounding so nervous that Zolf couldn’t help but feel a little bit sorry for him. “For the lecture Mr Wilde. It was truly inspiring.” Only Zolf’s experience meant he caught Oscar’s quickly hidden wince when he said those words. Inspiration had not really been his aim. “I was wondering if it would be possible to discuss your conclusions further?”

"I will be returning for another lecture in the summer." Oscar said, mostly distracted by Zolf and his host, who were both ushering him towards the door. "I would be happy to make an appointment with you then." The boy made a dissatisfied noise. 

"I thought perhaps we could meet before you leave town?" He attempted a casual tone, "perhaps over a meal, if you had the time?" Zolf watched with undisguised amusement as Oscar processed this, blinked, and then turned to give the boy his full attention for the first time. Oscar Wilde, who could once spot a flirty countenance at thirty paces, had missed this one entirely.

"I'm afraid I shan't have the time." He said carefully, glancing down at Zolf. Probably concerned the boy may be about to lose something vital, like a leg. But Zolf just gave him an beatific smile. 

"We are very busy." He agreed, patting Oscar on the arm. "But I'm sure we'll see you again in the summer." He turned Oscar back round, and moved him towards the door slightly more firmly than he had been. His host, who had been politely ignoring the entire conversation, suddenly found himself hurrying to keep up. As soon as the door at the back of the theatre was closed (and Zolf did not turn around to see the expression on the boy's face as the door swung shut, because he was trying to be a better person these days), Oscar turned to Zolf and muttered.

"I think there's something horribly wrong with me."

"I think you did very well." Zolf grinned back. "You're almost safe to be let out alone."

"He was flirting with me."

"He was."

"I told him about you." Zolf's expression soured a little, that was a different matter. He might have to reconsider that leg.

"Did you now."

"Maybe he misunderstood." Oscar said hastily, seeing the twitch in Zolf's fingers. "I said partner, he could have misinterpreted it."

"He could." There was still some danger in Zolf's voice.

"Gentlemen?" Their host, an academic so stereotypical he might have been a bit player in a theatrical farce, interrupted them. "We should probably find our way to the Octagon, if you are quite ready?"

They followed their host, Dr Paultney, through a series of corridors and up two flights of winding stairs until they were in the oldest part of the university, under the great dome. as they passed the central hall Zolf caught sight of a large wooden case in the corner of his eye. He paused, drawn by the taste of necromantic magic in the air. Oscar, he could tell, had felt the same thing, and Dr Paultney got several feet in front of them before he noticed that neither of his guests were following him. He backtracked to them, brow furrowed and then clearing.

"Ah! our founder." He led them to the case for a closer look. There was a figure inside, seated in a simple wooden chair, looking down at the charter for the university which he held in one hand. It took Zolf a moment to realise that it was not a statue, but an actual body, preserved by necromantic magic in permanent tableau. He took an involuntary step back, and found Oscar doing the same. "It's an auto-icon." Paultney said cheerfully, completely oblivious to any discomfort. "It was his last wish, to be preserved forever overlooking the university." 

"Is he..." Oscar started. The doctor shook his head before he could even reach the end of his sentence, this was obviously a common question.

"No no, quite dead. Just preserved." 

"He's sitting up of his own accord." Zolf pointed out, unconvinced.

"It was the work of some of the greatest necromantic magicians of the age. They came from Prague specifically to carry out his last wish. The soul departs, but the body remains, not undead but preserved." Paultney chuckled to himself. "I don't know much about it, but I'm told it is very clever."

"Not quite the word I would choose." Zolf muttered. Dr Paultney did not, or chose not, to hear.

"We should make our way in." He said, gesturing to a door at the other end of the corridor. "The canapés will be being served." He said this with the anxiety of an academic who had never quite given up the graduate student's quest for free food. He ushered them away but as they left Zolf turned back to the auto-icon. Its eyes briefly flicked up to meet his, blinked once as if trying to clear their vision, and then returned to the plans. Zolf shuddered.

  


By the time he reached the party, Oscar had already been absorbed into a conversation with several senior academics, apparently mostly dominated by a severe looking halfling woman in a twinset and pearls. He looked uncomfortable, although he was hiding it well. Oscar could function perfectly well in polite society, Zolf knew, as long as he didn’t have to do it sincerely. Standing at the side of the room, mocking the academics and university donors with erudite and witty asides to a small group of like minded friends he would have flourished. But having to make sincere conversation, or at least sincere nods and hums of agreement as the severe looking woman entered her fifth consecutive minute of talking, was not his natural habitat. He went to get two glasses of wine before rescuing him. He thought they might need it.

“Zolf!” He exclaimed as he approached. Zolf thought the woman might have been put out by this interruption, but she dealt with it neatly by simply ignoring the fact she had been interrupted. The quicker members of the surrounding group however took this as an opportunity to form a second circle around Zolf and Oscar, sacrificing their colleagues to make their own escape.

“This is my partner, Zolf Smith.” Oscar said, beaming. Curious faces stared at him, and Zolf shifted uncomfortably.

“Alright.” He managed at last. No one quite knew how to respond to this, the skills required for small talk were lacking in the group and silence pushed and pulled between them like a low charisma tug of war. 

“How did you… meet?” Eventually one of the academics broke.

“Through my work.” Oscar said quickly, before Zolf could get a word in edge-ways.

“Oh, are you a writer?” The interest in Zolf picked up as the chance that he might be able to discuss their specialist subject dawned.

“Not that work.” Zolf said shortly. “I’m more a freelancer.”

“Some of the best writers are.”

“Not that kind of…” One of the things that made Zolf’s magical legs so remarkable was the return of sensation. And not just the ground beneath his feet; right now, for example, he could feel the gentle but firm pressure of Oscar standing on his foot. “I’m in a different line of work.” He finished lamely.

“Ah.” The questioner seemed confused. “So you met by…”

“He was a fan.” Oscar said quickly. He ignored the glare Zolf shot him. “A very big fan. We met at a literary event, and he was just so excited to see me.” He gave Zolf a fawning look, and was rewarded with daggers in return.

“Oh yes, Oscar is my second favourite writer.” Zolf agreed, sickly sweet.

“And who is your first?” 

“Harrison Campbell.” One or two members of the group physically recoiled at this statement.

“Harrison… Campbell? I’m not sure I’m familiar with him.” 

“Oh he’s marvellous.” Zolf enthused, still with the sickly smile plastered on his face. No amount of foot standing was going to stop this, now he had found some literary snobs to annoy. “He really gets to the heart of things, y’know?” 

“I didn’t think it was hearts that were his organs of speciality.” One of the academics sniggered into his drink. Zolf turned his attention to him and Oscar resisted the urge to put his head in his hands.

“And what do you mean by that?” He asked, all innocence. The academic looked up, startled to have been heard and acknowledged.

“I just meant” he struggled. “I just meant that his books are known for their… raunchier set pieces.”

“Are they?” Still that guileless tone.

“Well, I mean, the few I have seen…”

“Can’t say I’ve noticed that much myself.” Zolf folded his arms and Oscar, recognising the pose, wondered at what point in someone else’s party it became appropriate to call someone to mop the blood off the floor. “Now and then, yes, when the plot demands, but I wouldn’t call it frequent.” He lifted an eyebrow. “Were you flicking through specially?” The academic choked on his drink.

“No! No, of course not.” He spluttered.

“A little bit here and there just adds a bit of colour to the plot, doesn’t it. Better than all these dry as dust books with nothing but talking and going in and out of doors.” 

“I suppose I must have got the wrong impression.” 

“Yes, you must.” Zolf unfolded his arms and Oscar’s shoulders relaxed. But they stiffened again a moment later when his host approached from behind and called his name with desperate jollity.

“Mr Wilde?” Oscar turned and was greeted by Dr Paultney, who’s grin had developed a maniacal edge, and a plump halfling in a topcoat and tails, who reminded Oscar so strongly of some of his schoolmasters that he found an extra half an inch in his spine as he stood up ramrod straight. “This is the provost of the university, Professor Grimís. He is extremely keen to meet you.” Professor Grimís did not look keen to meet him. Professor Grimís looked as if he was very tired of this whole affair. 

“Good evening Professor.” Oscar said courteously. “I am delighted to meet you.” The professor did not exactly respond to this, but gave a grunt that could on a good day have been considered encouragement. “May I introduce my partner? Zolf Smith.” Zolf, recalled from his academic baiting by the tone in Oscar’s voice, stepped forwards with his hand out. 

“Nice to meet you.” He said. For the first time, the Provost’s interested appeared to be piqued, and he reached out to shake hands.

“Zolf Smith. Formerly of the London Rangers?” Zolf started and tensed.

“Yes. Although that was a long time ago.” He said carefully.

“I remember reading an article about you.” The provost continued, apparently completely oblivious to any tension in the conversation. Dr Paultney by contrast, seemed even more perturbed by this turn than Zolf or Oscar. 

“Professor Grimís has written several very interesting articles relating to the thesis of your lecture.” He tried, but Grimís just waved a distracted hand at him.

“Yes yes. It was a very good lecture.” He said vaguely, as if realising such a thing would be expected of him. A thought crossed his mind and he suddenly turned on Oscar. His attention, when fully focused, was unnerving. “I suspect you are too busy to teach full time.”

“I’m afraid I do have other responsibilities.” Grimís nodded.

“Of course. You hold an audience well though. If you could inspire that level of concentration in some of our undergraduates I would give you the freedom of the university as a reward for performing miracles.”

“Maybe I will take you up on that one day.” Oscar’s pleased smile was sneaking out at the edges, despite its owner’s firm attempts to remain detached. 

“Good good.” Grimís attention fell away from him as quickly as it had risen and he turned his laser focus back to Zolf. Oscar got the distinct impression that both he and Dr Paultney had been dismissed.

“You were a sailor, if I recall correctly.” 

“Yes sir.” Oscar was as ever slightly amused by Zolf’s habit of reverting to military and clerical discipline whenever he was trying not to offend someone. 

“Tell me, what do you know about sea fishing?” Zolf blinked. Oscar blinked. Paultney twitched. 

“Can’t say I’ve done much of it.”

“But you would be able to? Sail a boat to a good spot?”

“Yeah, dare say I could do that.” Zolf’s brow was clearing as his nervousness turned to confusion, and then amusement.

“Excellent!” Professor Grimís took Zolf by the elbow, which was about as far as he could reach, and led him away. “I must introduce to Dr Fask, she is also very interested in our little expedition.”

“What expedition?” Zolf mouthed to Oscar over the Professor’s head as he was walked firmly towards the drinks table. Oscar shrugged.

“Well, that’s that then.” Dr Paultney said from behind him, more than a little sourly.

“What’s what then?” Oscar asked. Paultney scowled.

“If he’s found someone to talk to about his sea fishing, we won’t get him to talk about anything else for the rest of the night. He’s obsessed.” Paultney sighed. “And Fask has had two promotions from him. I’m sure her advancement is because of her academic merit and not because she knows how to dangle a bit of string in the water.”

“I think it’s a bit more complicated than that.” Oscar said, patting the man on the arm in a vaguely comforting manner. 

“She’ll be on the academic board next.” Paultney muttered darkly, not paying a bit of attention to his guest. Oscar took his opportunity and moved away. Zolf was still at the drinks table, now in conversation with Grimís and a tall human woman who Oscar took to be Dr Fask. He was actively contributing, and did not look overtly murderous, so Oscar left him to it for now. He skirted a group of students who were participating in a collective grumble about the senior academic staff, and then a group of senior staff complaining about the students. As he picked up another glass of lukewarm white wine from a passing tray, Oscar couldn’t think for the life of him why he had ever left academia. 

“I do wonder sometimes why we bother.” A voice spoke closer to his ear than he was expecting. Oscar jumped and turned round to meet a pair of startlingly blue eyes. 

“Bother with what?” Oscar struggled to regain his composure. His companion waved an elegant hand across the crowd.

“This travesty of a party.” He sighed. “I dare say you no more want to be here than the rest of us.”

“I can’t say it was my first choice for evening entertainment.” He was still sizing up this man, old training and habits kicking in hard. He was at best a provocateur, although whether he was serving a master or just his own amusement remained to be seen. Oscar was uncomfortably aware that the man reminded him of himself. 

“Would it be anyone’s?” The man asked. He was leaning on the wall just to Oscar’s right, his face a picture of ennui. “Unless you belong to the in crowd of course.” He gestured to the group of academics he and Zolf had so recently been part of. Like any good collective organism, now the disrupting influence had gone they had reformed as they were before. 

“You’re not part of their crowd then.” Oscar said, playing along despite himself. The man chuckled into his drink.

“Not I.” He agreed. He held out his hand for Oscar to shake. “Peter Erskine. Reader. And professional black sheep.”

“What did you do to earn that title?” 

“Which one? The Reader I earned by writing endless articles and two dry as dust books, and hanging on in the department until it had become too much of an embarrassment not to promote me. The other I gained by not being interested in the correct things.”

“And what things would that be?”

“Anything newer than the last century.” Peter sighed, and took a long swallow from his drink. “I happen to think that modern literature actually has a part in critical study. That wouldn’t be so bad on its own, but” and here his voice dropped to mock conspiratorial tones. “I also think that maybe we should be studying the books people actually read.”

“I should introduce you to my partner.” Oscar said absentmindedly, his attention distracted by Zolf demonstrating something that looked worryingly like a harpoon throw to the Provost and Dr Fask. “You’d get on like a house on fire.”

“Oh yes, I saw that happen.” Erskine said with a grin of admiration. “He certainly ruffled a few feathers there. It was very entertaining.” Oscar found himself more kindly disposed to Dr Erskine after that statement, despite the voice in his head grumbling that being swayed by such things was dangerous. This wasn’t a war he reminded himself. Or at least, not the sort of war he had been in for the last few years.

“He specialises in ruffling feathers.” Oscar said fondly. 

“Well, high praise for Harrison Campbell is an excellent way to ruffle half the department.”

“And the other half?”

“Don’t know who he is.” 

“Ah.”

“To the ivory tower.” Erskine said, lifting his glass in an ironic toast. “And all who sail in her.”

“Erskine!” The shout came from across the room, making Oscar jump for a second time. Peter looked up, then rubbed his hand across his face and sighed. 

“Here we go.” He muttered to Wilde as Dr Paultney strode towards them.

“What are you doing with the speaker?” The focus of the entire room swivelled onto the three of them, by far the most interesting thing to have happened all night.

“Talking.” Erskine replied. “I wasn’t aware that required your permission James.”

“You know that all requests for meetings with guests are to go through the host.”

“I didn’t think that included idle chats at a departmental party.”

“It would have been good etiquette to inform me.” Dr Paultney seethed.

“I’ll be sure to send over my full schedule for small talk next time.” Erskine promised, “although I can’t promise to stick to it precisely, you know how these things are.”

“You are being a bit unreasonable James.” A voice called over from the knot of academics. Oscar who recognised an attempt to throw oil on troubled fires when he saw one, winced.

“He does this every time!” Paultney exploded. “You know he does!” Now Erskine bristled.

“If you mean I talk to the speakers like they are normal people, guilty as charged. I’m sorry I don’t have your pathological deference.”

“You don’t know the meaning of the word deference.” This was from one of the women they had been talking to earlier. The group was now approaching, dividing like water around a rock. Some went to Erskine’s side, and some to Paultney’s. Oscar stepped backwards out of the gathering group. He caught Zolf’s eye and the dwarf mouthed ‘What did you do?’ at him from across the room. Oscar shrugged and held up his hands. Not him, not this time. Zolf rolled his eyes, although whether at Oscar, the academics or the entire situation it was hard to tell. His attention was redirected by the Provost to their conversation, the man seemingly completely unperturbed by the small civil war that seemed likely to explode before they had reached the sherry.

“He knows more about it than you.” A man from the group forming around Erskine spoke up. “And I bet he knows more about how an idea should be credited.” The woman turned on him.

“By the Gods Aneurin, that was thirty five years ago! Must you bring it up at every party?”

“I don’t see why the host should have monopoly anyway.” Someone else chipped in from the sidelines. “I bet the guests can’t wait to get away.”

“Well, some people never bother to organise visits.” Paultney almost spat the words. “I don’t see why they should benefit from the hard work of the rest of us.”

“Is this about the exam marking again?” Erskine asked, rolling his eyes. “Is that what this is actually about?”

“If you would do your fair share, we wouldn’t have these problems.” This was yet another voice from the crowd. Oscar wondered if there were some professional agitators having a busman’s holiday at the party.

“You let me set my fair share of the questions, I’ll mark my fair share of the answers.”

“Your questions are not suitable for the course.”

“They’re suitable enough that you let me lecture to them.”

“Well we have to give them something to compare the rest of us to.”

Oscar retreated slowly backwards towards the door, not particularly surprised to find that Zolf had appeared at his elbow. He seemed relaxed and was laughing to himself, watching insults being traded between the two groups, now firmly entrenched in the centre of the room. The Provost for his part was observing the rapidly escalating argument from the drinks table, completely unperturbed, and exchanging occasional remarks with Dr Fask.

“I think your work here is done.” Zolf said drily.

“For once, I did nothing to make this happen.” Oscar complained. “I just wanted a drink.” As if on cue a waiter passed by with the first tray of sherry. Zolf grabbed two and handed one to Oscar, downing the other like a shot. Oscar made a face and began sipping his.

“Do you really want to stay here long enough for you to finish that by sipping?” Zolf asked. He had a point, the argument was accelerating again, and now seemed to have turned to office space and use of the communal kitchens. Oscar finished his sherry in three gulps.

“Shall we go?” For the second time that day, he offered his arm to Zolf.

“Cheerio all.” Zolf called brightly from the doorway. The Provost gave them a cheerful wave, and although most of the rest of the staff barely seemed to notice a few heads turned in their direction. Neither Paultney nor Erskine looked up, but the academic Zolf had talked with earlier did notice them leaving. Zolf gave him a wave. “I’ll ask Harrison to sign some books for you next time I see him.” He said. “Something for you to display instead of that corpse.” The look of horror on the man’s face was the last thing Oscar saw as the door swung closed.

  


Twenty minutes later they were strolling along the path through the centre of Russell Square, eating fat chip shop chips from paper cones. Zolf’s tie hung loose about his neck and even Oscar had opened his jacket. The moon was full, striking the ring where the paths met in the centre of the park and turning the pavements a soft silver.

“Well I think that went as well as could be expected.” Oscar said.

“Too many academics, not enough canapés.” Zolf grumbled, licking salt and oil from his fingers. Oscar watched him, and tried not to be distracted.

“I did warn you.”

“Still, the provost bloke was nice enough. Think he’ll let you come back?”

“As long as I bring you with me, I’m sure I will be very welcome.” Oscar said, trying not to sound too put out. Zolf grinned at his sour expression.

“Zolf Smith, good will ambassador. That’s me.”

“And there’s me thinking he only wanted you for your sailing.”

“Well, you have to start somewhere.” Zolf offered him a wicked smile. “And at least I didn’t start a fight.”

“I’ve told you, that wasn’t my fault.” Oscar grumbled. “At least not directly.”

“That’s not what I heard. I heard you were going round that party, just talking to anyone you came across.”

“Yes, alright.” 

"I shouldn't leave you unsupervised." Zolf said fondly. "You clearly can't be trusted."

"Not my fault." Oscar repeated. “That room was a ticking bomb. There’s no resentment like academic resentment.”

“I don’t know why you ever gave it up.”

“Funnily enough, I was thinking exactly the same thing earlier.” Oscar sighed. “It’s a nice place to visit.”

“But you wouldn’t want to live there.” Zolf agreed. “Neither would I, thank you very much.”

“Happy as we are?” 

“Happy as we are.” It was an affirmation. There were a few minutes of silence, and then Zolf spoke again.

“We just do better around normal people.” Oscar shot him a quick look to check if he was serious, and goggled at him when he realised he was.

“We may need to discuss your definition of better. And of normal people.”

“What? I just mean people like the ones we usually meet”

“You mean paladins, alchemists, thieves, and sorcerers with a side order of dragon?”

“Yeah, normal people.” Oscar sighed, and ate another chip.

“The lecture went well at least.” He said after a moment.

“You seemed to be enjoying yourself.” 

“I think the audience enjoyed it too.” Zolf gave him a look and, his own chips finished, took the opportunity to steal from Oscar’s portion.

“Stop fishing for compliments Oscar.” He said as he bit into it.

“I’m not, and leave my chips alone.”

“What’s yours is mine.” Zolf grinned, and snagged another one. “You won’t eat them all, anyway. Too affected for a decent appetite, you.”

“I can’t help it if I’m delicate.” Zolf snorted.

“Of course you are, dear. No idea how you made it through a war.” He paused for a moment. “And just in case you really weren’t fishing, which to be clear I don’t believe for a moment, you were brilliant. Your host thought so, the audience thought so.”

“You thought so?”

“I thought so, and you know I’m difficult to impress.”

“Isn’t that the truth.” Oscar looked mournfully at his chips, still a quarter full, and then gave up and handed them to Zolf.

“Maybe they will ask me back then, after the summer.”

“Of course they will. Apart from anything else, I have a fishing trip to go on. And you have a nice young man to take out for dinner.”

“No I don’t.”

“Correct answer.” Zolf grinned into his newly acquired chips. 

“Maybe we’ll skip the party next time?” 

“I don’t know, I thought we had fun.” Oscar’s attempt to look mortified was ruined by his face trying to smile at the same time, making the overall expression too complicated to be properly rendered.

“Could we perhaps have less fun next time?”

“That depends on them, doesn’t it.” They had reached the steps of the hotel. Oscar leaned over and kissed the side of Zolf’s head before they went in.

“Incorrigible.” He muttered. 

“You love it.” Zolf opened the door. “Why don’t you take me upstairs and see how incorrigible I can be.” 

“That doesn’t even make sense.”

“You and your limited imagination.” They passed into the foyer, all tiles and mirrors. The waiter from breakfast had obviously pulled the short straw and was now manning the night reception.

“Good evening Sirs.” 

“Good evening.” Oscar said distractedly, still thinking about the precise meaning of the previous conversation. Zolf looked up though, and smiled when he saw who it was.

“Evenin’” He said cheerfully. He balled up the chip paper in his hands and passed it over the reception desk. “Chuck that for me will you? Night”

“Goodnight.” The man said automatically, staring down in horror at the greasy paper. Zolf grinned, and turned to follow Oscar’s extremely attractive behind up the stairs.

“It will be!” He called over his shoulder, and set off.


End file.
